


shower thoughts

by thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily)



Series: stripped down (lingerie wars week) [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Corsetry, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Lingerie, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21713497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriarLily/pseuds/thewayofthetrashcompactor
Summary: The Force bond catches Kylo and Rey in another compromising position. Kylo's thoughts descend swiftly into a pit.(Written for 2018 Lingerie Wars Week)
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: stripped down (lingerie wars week) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1565023
Comments: 4
Kudos: 108





	shower thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing my effort to try to get all my fics onto ao3 before TRoS! This was written last year as a oneshot for day 3 (theme: jungle green and fur or rope) of [Lingerie Wars week](https://lingeriewarsweek.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Check out this series for my other lingerie fics, mostly ['rated best'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408288/).

Kylo leans over his desk and runs his hand through his hair. Snoke had never prepared him for control of his empire (in some way, he'd always known Snoke would stop finding him useful one day), but even if he had, he's certain Snoke had never been forced to do _paperwork_. He throws down the latest in a stack of datapads in disgust and shoves his chair back. He's not used to spending his time idly. He takes his saber from his belt and spins it in his hands, letting his familiar fallback of anger fill him. He's in the first pose of an attack, saber not yet lit, when there's a sudden numbness surrounding his ears. He looks around his room, hoping and dreading what he might see. 

Sure enough, Rey has appeared to the side of him, standing half naked and turning to look at herself in what must be a mirror. She wears a heavy corset in a deep forest green, covering her from her hips to her breasts, where it's tied tight enough to create a subtle cleavage from her small breasts. The top edge is trimmed in a soft fur, tickling her skin, likely meant to show under whatever dress goes over it. He wonders what the outfit is for, where his mother is dragging her too that she’s going to these lengths. Anything to keep him from thinking about the fact that her bottom half is completely bare. Her long, muscled legs lead up to a tuft of dark hair between them. 

He has a brief, fleeting hope that she won't see him, that he can somehow run away or force the bond to disconnect before she notices, but then his suddenly sweaty hands slip and his thumb presses the switch of his saber. It roars to life, and Rey whirls around to see him behind her, holding his lit saber at his hips in a fighting stance. 

“Ben!” she says in surprise. She looks for a moment like she might retreat or cover herself, but then she seems to decide otherwise. Her hands land on her hips and she looks at him expectantly with a cocked brow. 

“Could you -- put something on? Anything,” he stammers, averting his eyes to the floor, painfully aware of how this echoes their previous encounter. 

“If you're so bothered, you can leave.”

He glares at her. “I can't control this any more than you can.”

She shrugs. “Guess you'll just have to put up with it then, Supreme Leader.” She turns back to the material and smoothes the corset over her sides. Kylo's mouth goes dry. Almost unconsciously, he steps closer to her. She looks back at him over her shoulder. “Do you think I'm going to attack you?” she asks, looking at his saber. “Not that you wouldn't deserve it.” He flushes and turns it off, then replaces it on his belt.

“What is this for?” he says, gesturing at her clothing, his voice coming out almost in a growl. 

“Who says it has to be for anything?”

He snorts. “Will the Resistance be fighting in their basics now?”

She glares. “If that's what it takes.”

Guilt pangs at him, for the betrayal in her tone, but his anger hasn't left. Looking at her though, proud and ready to fight even when half bare to him, it slowly dissipates. It's hard for him to want to waste any of the time they have together. And her can't deny what the look of her bristling with righteous fury, blazing in the Force does to him. He takes another step closer, so he's just behind her. “You’re beautiful,” he says, the words drawn out of him almost unconsciously. 

It's her turn to snort. She glances in front of her and he wonders if she can see him in her mirror. Likely not. “I'm in my basics”

“Not even,” he mutters, with another guilty look down, and her lips twitch. 

“Like I said, if it bothers you…” she trails off with a challenging look back at him. He responds with a final step that all but closes the gap between them. He feels the heat of her body in front of him, the tension in the breath of air and lightyears between them. 

“Never,” he says, and slowly, moving like he's pushing through sand, he raises his hands to her hips. She holds her breath just before he makes contact, their eyes locked, lips parted, and he could swear they're breathing the same air. He bends his head down at the same time, just as slowly and -- 

The Force bond snaps before he can touch her, leaving him alone in his quarters, the memory of the heat of her skin evaporating into the recycled air. He stays frozen a moment, unable to process the Force laughing at him again, then explodes. 

“Fuck!” he yells, and turns and slams his fist into the wall. His saber is in his hands before he knows it. He swings it again and again, long fast strokes, until his anger builds to a climax and spills over. He stands, panting, staring at the wall now gouged with scorch marks, thick smoke rising from the wounds. His chest heaves and he feels the sweat cooling on his brow. He douses his saber and turns around, stalking into the fresher. 

With quick, jerky motions, his rips his robes off and tosses them to the floor. He steps into his shower, one with real water, not sonic, one of the few advantages of being the Supreme Leader. He lets the hot water wash over him, turning his skin red with a comforting burn. He stares sightlessly at the wall, the image of Rey in all her glory imprinted into his mind. He tries to resist his body's reaction to the thought. It's dirty and wrong, a distraction to him and an insult to her. His higher brain's insistence on this fails to stop his base response. He leans his forehead against the wall and closes his eyes. Even the shame filling him isn't enough to fight Rey's influence. 

He thinks about turning the water cold, letting it freeze the heat rising in him away, but instead his hand drifts lower, almost against his will. The feeling of always being watched is one that's hard to lose, but he answers to no one now. This brings an unexpected flush of resolve and his hand grips his erection firmly. He gasps at the contact, not fully prepared. Committing to the action now, he leans more fully against the wall, bracing his other arm near his head. With his eyes closed, the image of Rey is clear in front of him. She radiates power, in the Force, in her bearing, in the way that she refuses to back down from him. He imagines what could have happened if the Force bond hadn't ended so abruptly. His hands coming to rest on her hips, spanning her narrow frame, thumbs smoothing over bare skin. He thinks back to when they touched hands before she'd come to him, but it feels wrong to sully something so pure with his fantasies, so he pushes it aside with a wave of guilt. It's nearly enough to take him out of the moment, but he persists. 

What comes next? He flounders a bit, then remembers her lips just under his, faces tilted to meet. He imagines closing that distance, her lips hot beneath his, pressing against them with confidence. He'd pull her closer until they're pressed together, the long lines of her body right against his. In his mind, her arms come up around his neck to keep him bent to her, a position he'd willingly stay in for years. 

The thought of kissing her is enough to make him ache, chest empty with the want of something he doesn't really believe he could have. His eyes burn, but he refuses to give in to maudlin self-pity now. He can at least have the fantasy. 

Hands then, moving from her hips inward. The corset had come low on her torso, but not low enough, and there'd be room for him to explore her further. In his fantasy, she arches her hips into his hands, encouraging him to go further, while her lips move against his more passionately. His grip around his cock tightens as he imagines delving between her legs, reverently touching the parts of her body hidden from him. With another wave of guilt, he thinks back to the illicit texts he'd snuck under Luke's watchful eye as a teenager, the same thrill of shame he'd felt then as he pored over the words returning to him now. 

He'd trace her lower lips, learning the delicate skin there, then between. In his fantasy, he finds her wet and wanting this just as much as he does. His fingers slide along her folds, up to the spot at the top at the top that makes her jerk against him. He lets her moans guide him. Her breath pants hot and damp against his face and his other hand creeps up to cup a breast from underneath her corset, thumb flicking back and forth over her nipple. Her hand grasps the wrist of his hand between her legs, telling him without words to go lower, take this further. Her slickness eases his way. He finds her entrance and pushes his fingers against it. She groans in his ear in encouragement.

He's panting, the slide of his fist over his heavy cock much easier now, a red flush high in his cheeks as he imagines pushing a finger into her, feeling her sex clasp hot and tight around him. His hand tightens around himself and he gasps, and in his fantasy Rey does the same. He slowly slides his finger in and out, and she gets wetter, begging him for more. He adds another finger and his pace increases, just as his hand does on his cock. 

And then an unbidden thought creeps in: the Force bond connecting them now, Rey finding him bent over and pleasuring himself to thoughts of _her_. He shoves the idea away as quickly as he can, almost scared that thinking it might make it a reality, but it's too late. He comes over his hand, his spend landing on the shower wall. He stands still, panting to catch his breath. The water still pounding against him adds an uncomfortable layer to his oversensitized state, and he reaches over with his clean hand to turn it off. Pleasurable endorphins still run through him, and though he still can't shake the feeling that what he'd done was wrong, he also can't regret it. The fantasy of Rey, body bowed, face scrunched in pleasure at _his_ hands isn't one that will be leaving him quickly.

He dries himself off and dresses for bed mechanically, mind still caught up in what he'd done, and thoughts of _Rey_. He leaves the fresher on still shaky legs, ignores the desk still stacked with datapads, and collapses into bed. He head head barely touches the pillow before he falls into an exhausted sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [pillowfort as thelastjedi](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/959854), [tumblr as thewayofthetrashcompactor](https://thewayofthetrashcompactor.tumblr.com/post/173185991743/thinking-of-you), and [twitter as briartrash](https://twitter.com/briartrash/status/1203771738502389767?s=20)
> 
> Comments always appreciated! Bonus points for catching all the dick jokes


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